


An Offering

by Lacertae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Consensual Sex, Dream Sex, Illusions, Incubus Genji Shimada, M/M, Omnics, Oni Genji Shimada, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Succubi & Incubi, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:07:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22895368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: *Genji/Zenyatta* Zenyatta finds himself caught in the lure of an incubus, and while he wouldn't mind agreeing to feed him, he will not give in to the simple temptation of an illusion.
Relationships: Genji Shimada/Tekhartha Zenyatta, Tekhartha Zenyatta/Other(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 195





	An Offering

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate summary: Incubus!Genji is very determined to get booty but Zen has his standards.

**An Offering**

He’s caught far too easily.

All it takes is a misstep, stumbling out of the protective walls of the monastery, out of the cleansed pathways that lead down to the village, and Zenyatta is ensnared.

The demon follows him quietly, at first, so quietly in fact that Zenyatta is lulled into believing he was lucky, just this once.

His life goes on, he studies with his brothers and sisters, trains under Mondatta’s tutelage, meditates in the beauty of the monastery garden.

Zenyatta forgets about his misstep.

Until the dreams start.

He doesn’t quite remember what they are about, except that there’s a constant burning heat within his chassis, the kind that makes his fans spin faster, attempting to cool his circuits a bit. The heat starts somewhere in his chest and then moves lower, and it feels as if intangible hands are caressing his sensors, teasing him gently until he’s squirming.

He runs from those hands, but they chase him, and nowhere is safe, for they always seem to find him.

There’s no face, attached to those hands, just fingers and long, sharp nails that tease his wires, scrape gently at his sensors, making him shiver and stumble, and in his dream Zenyatta finds no respite, until he falls and the sensation grows too strong for him to ignore.

He wakes to the ghost sensation of fingers caressing his modesty plate, to stickiness coating the inside of his valve, slick leaking when he opens himself up to clean.

For hours after he wakes, his body throbs for touches that do not exist.

Even then, he says nothing to Mondatta about it.

The dreams are nothing, and they do not follow him into the waking hours, except for the first few hours of ache –but even this changes quickly.

Inside the dreams, the faceless stranger that chases him murmurs soft praise into his auricular receptors, and Zenyatta stumbles, dizzy and warm, and rather than escape, he finds himself turning towards the voice for a moment before forcing himself to run, though in the dreams he has no idea why he’s running, when all he’s offered is pleasure.

Yet, there is a nagging in the back of his mind that makes him hesitate inside the dreams, and Zenyatta fights against the lure, gasping even as the hands and the soft voice murmur for him to stop resisting.

When he wakes, Mondatta’s faceplate is the first thing he thinks about, shuddering and aching for a touch to calm his desire, but the thought of talking with him about this twists in his mind to something else, different –to the image of Mondatta gently touching him instead, fingers caressing a path down Zenyatta’s front to take care of him in such a way, until he spills in his hand, dirtying their clothes.

He does not tell Mondatta anything, but he spends more time meditating, attempting to find the link the demon must have with him to severe it.

Zenyatta feels the thread within his mind, connected to the outside of the monastery, and it is relief to realise this is not the work of a malicious demon, but simply of an incubus. He does not know why he’s the target, or why the demon didn’t simply come to the monastery for a proposal, if he’s so starved, but he feels upset that he has yet to show, and that is what makes him decide to severe the connection.

There is only a moment of hesitation, remembering the hands teasing him in his dreams, but then he snaps the thread, and thinks his job done.

When the next night the stranger turns him around, pressing him into a wall, hands caressing down his sides, he’s not faceless anymore, and Mondatta’s faceplate tugs him closer before his hand reach lower, cupping his modesty panel, demanding access.

He cannot fight Mondatta, and opens up to the touch–

Zenyatta awakens in a startled heap, core buzzing and hydraulics rushing oil into his auricular receptors, and for a moment, caught between wake and sleep, the hand touching him remains there for him to feel, caressing him, a finger sliding down the curve of his prosthetic cock to trail lower, where his valve is plump and exposed to the morning air…

And then the touch dissipates like shadows under the sun, and Zenyatta shudders and closes his optical receptors, abandoned on the mat he’d been meditating on.

Evidently, he thinks, the demon is set on him, and he has to address it.

***

He leaves the safety of the monastery mid-morning, and walks into the woods outside its perimeter.

As he walks, the demon remains in the foliage above him, following him, but Zenyatta, attuned to his powers now, can feel him staring.

The air feels electric to him, the demon’s powers reaching out to him, enticing, but Zenyatta has enough self-control to keep himself still until the leaves above his head shuffle.

“What do you want?” he asks.

The voice that answers him is rich and deep, and it sends shivers down his back. “You know what I want.”

“The monastery isn’t protected against the likes of you,” Zenyatta speaks again, not as loud as before. “Why lure me out in such a way?”

“I enjoy playing,” the demon murmurs, his tone amused. “The longer my prey resists, the tastier it is to feast afterwards, and you are… alluring, to me. I’ve been following you for a while now, and I have gained a _preference_.”

Zenyatta shivers.

He’s never met an incubus before –but they are, essentially, harmless, so there is no fear within him to make him rush back to the monastery.

What does surprise him, what makes the thrill inside him cede way to confusion, is that he’s never thought one would go for him, with a world full of far more enticing targets. The idea settles like a weight in his lower belly, and though he wonders if it’s perhaps just the demon sweetening the deal with a compliment, he can’t help but feel touched, regardless.

The idea of allowing this demon to feed on him isn’t unpleasant, but at the same time, he hides away, and refuses to let himself be seen, and that doesn’t sit well on Zenyatta. Not at all.

“You could have asked,” he says instead. “As it is proper.”

“I am rather… traditional,” the demon answers, still out of view. “I prefer to find someone that entices me, and then call them to me, if they are receptive.” A pause. “Are you?”

Zenyatta stutters, embarrassed by the way he has to swallow down the ‘yes’ that threatens to leave his synth, because he knows that is just the demon’s pheromones talking, and he doesn’t want mirages and camouflages if he agrees. “I wouldn’t know,” he says instead, relieved to hear no hesitation in his tone.

“I have given you enough that you could grant me permission,” the demon says instead, sounding at the same time offended and eager. “Offered the forbidden image of your master, that you so covet, catering to your every whim. What more should you want? I can make that image into a reality, if you want.”

Zenyatta visibly shivers, and cannot stop himself.

The idea of the demon taking Mondatta’s appearance, to have Mondatta’s faceplate look down at him as his hands dip inside him–

“That might be something I crave for, but it is not the way you will have me,” he says. “Perhaps you should find a different route.”

He turns around and leaves, core whirring fast in his chest, but pleased when he hears the demon’s loud, startled laugh following him back into the monastery.

That night, there is no Mondatta to chase him, but the face of a man he’s met during his travels around the world. The man is young and fit, with muscles and a rough smirk and a perfect aim, and Zenyatta remembers, in the dream, the way Jesse had looked at him, when he thought no one saw him, though he knows, distantly, that this is not Jesse at all.

He rebukes the demon’s offering, even as he wakes still aching, late for his morning duties.

Zenyatta doesn’t touch himself, even when it feels like it could calm the fire burning inside him, but it is part of the game he’s playing with the demon, after all, and knows that no matter how much he tries, he will find no reprieve unless it’s the demon himself touching him.

The next night, the merchant who wanted to buy the monastery kneels in front of him, intense eyes focused only on him, and Zenyatta wavers, in a way that shakes him to the core, for the man had been enticing in a way Zenyatta could barely take, with big hands and sharp eyes and full lips, and in the dream he lets Akande press him into a wall, a knee between his legs, grinding and pushing, allowing himself to gasp for a moment at the friction, at the feeling of that body above his own–

And then he says no, once again, and in the morning he runs from his duties, and fights against the burning ache between his legs until his body is under control again.

It’s almost like a fever, now, the desire thrumming inside him, but there is something pleasant in its presence, in the fact that despite how constant it is, Zenyatta can still resist it, though the idea is soured by the thought that if he pushes too far, he might cause the demon to falter, and that wouldn’t be the desired result.

Yet, he won’t give in, for the demon still needs to do this right.

Night after night, the demon parades all the faces Zenyatta has met in his life, and with each one Zenyatta loses himself a little, yet still retreats, his game with the demon continuing until the demon’s attitude bleeds into the characters he portrays, and he tries to coax Zenyatta with his own voice and his own praise.

That, Zenyatta thinks, is a step in the right direction… yet not enough. The demon still refuses to let himself be seen.

Though he aches and shivers and spends his days with the echo of the demon’s voice in his mind, Zenyatta finds he does not mind, for the game itself, and resisting, entertains him enough to make it worth it.

***

On the night of the full moon, when he falls asleep, there is no familiar face waiting for him –instead, the demon himself stands in front of him in the dream, wearing a mask of an oni, fangs bared in a scream.

“You wanted none of them,” he says, his voice echoing strangely in Zenyatta’s mind, yet sounding so real at the same time. He sounds upset, but to Zenyatta it feels more like a pout than real annoyance. “I do not know what you’d want me to give you, and I have no more ideas.”

“You missed the most obvious one,” Zenyatta tells him, and smiles.

The demon laughs, incredulous and amused. “Did I?” he asks, and then the dream world tilts to the side and Zenyatta falls–

He falls and falls, and is caught by tendrils of shadows that curl around his body, lifting his arms in the air, expose him.

Another tendril slips between his legs, and its thick appendage caresses his modesty plate, as the demon’s voice comes from everywhere around him, vibrating through Zenyatta’s chassis, making him gasp.

“I can give you this, then, Zenyatta,” hearing his own name on the demon’s makes Zenyatta gasp. “Was that what you wanted?”

The tendrils remove all of his clothes, piece by piece, until Zenyatta’s left completely bare to the demon’s eyes. He’s lived within his mind for a month, and knows every single one of Zenyatta’s thoughts, of his desires, of his innermost kinks, but Zenyatta sees the demon in the darkness surrounding him observing him with eyes glowing with inner fire and feels no shame, nor need to hide.

His chassis heaves as the tendrils dig into him, caressing his sensors, and he jolts and moans; his modesty panel slides open, exposing his leaking valve to the oni’s eyes, and he feels one tendril dip against its entrance, rubbing into it–

But then murmurs a single word, a negation even to this fantasy, and the tendrils freeze and fade away, and he wakes, colder than ever before, fingers caressing the ache between his legs, trying to mimic the squirming tentacles, then stop.

It takes longer for Zenyatta to fall back asleep, and no dream follows.

That day, Zenyatta skips his morning meditation and walks into the forest again.

It seems the demon will need a more obvious hint.

“You keep refusing me,” the demon murmurs from the shadows. “Yet you still come, you tease, and challenge me, but turn around to everything I can offer. You are…”

“You did not offer everything,” Zenyatta answers, cutting the demon off. “As I told you once, you missed what I wanted from the beginning, yet you keep playing blind.”

“I offered you your master, and all the men, the women you lusted for. I offered you the void, and yet you still said no.” there is a vague anger in the demon’s voice, irritation mixed with anger but also with curiosity.

“Yet,” Zenyatta says, amusement in his voice, “you did not offer yourself.”

And then, there’s silence.

It lasts so long Zenyatta wonders if he’s offended the demon, if this is where he’ll pull back, free him from the pheromones making him throb and ache, and then–

The demon falls from the foliage above and down in front of him in a crouch.

He’s just like he was in the dream, dressed in black that only accentuates his muscles, his toned body, the mask white and red that hides his face from Zenyatta.

“I have,” the demon denies, voice rough and sharp.

“You have not. Not once, in any of my dreams, were you there as yourself. You hide, give me what I want, but it’s not what you desire.”

“What lies behind this mask is not for your eyes, monk.” There’s gruff anger, there, but not towards Zenyatta, no. It’s towards himself.

Zenyatta understands.

“And behind this,” he points to his faceplate, “there is no humanity, yet you chased me freely, wanting me for my omnic body.”

“I–”

“Omnics feel lust, yes, but it’s a different kind from organic creatures. That you wish to feed on me means you took a particular liking, and you mentioned that during our first meeting, in these woods.”

“You don’t understand–”

“I understand more than you think, and that is what I want, if you wish to feed on me.” Zenyatta hums, and smiles through his forehead array. “Show yourself to me, oni, and you can have me, for as long as you wish.”

When he leaves, there is silence behind him, so thick and heavy it rests on his chest like a weight.

He is not sure the demon will take him up on that offer anymore, but that is his one rule, and he will not concede.

***

In the dream, he is sitting in his bedroom. There is a quality to the room that makes it look hazy but recognizable, and Zenyatta sighs quietly, staring outside of the window.

There is no moon, no sky, just empty darkness.

The demon appears in front of him like summoned, and his eyes glow behind the mask.

“You do not know what you ask for,” the demon murmurs.

“You expect me to want deceit, where all I ask is what other incubi give freely.”

The demon flinches.

“You will not like, what is under the mask,” he grouses, even as his hands rise to touch his mask. “Without illusion, not even my powers could make me attractive.”

“The failure of others to see something does not mean I will fall, as well.”

“You have been warned –and once you see me, you will ask me to leave –and then, all this card castle will fall, and neither of us will be happy.”

“So you say, yet you still hide away. Show yourself to me, demon, and I will make this decision on my own.”

The dream stretches on in silence as the demon ponders, hesitates, and finally tugs off his mask in one single, sharp tug, sending it rolling on the floor by their feet, its edges already fading out of Zenyatta’s focus.

Behind the mask, the real face of the demon looks at him with glowing, expectant eyes, frowning, mismatched scars running across his entire visage.

Zenyatta sees survival in that face, and old pain, and hatred, and the need to hide behind illusions.

Zenyatta sees beauty, and strength there, and his core swells with another wave of heat.

“This is what I wanted to see,” he says instead of acknowledging the fire inside him, relieved, and takes a step towards the oni, and though he sees him flinch, he does not stop, fingers coming to caress his cheek. “For I need no disguise to be convinced.”

The oni stutters and swallows thickly. “You lie,” he says, quietly, disbelieving.

“You are the one who can read into my innermost thoughts,” he shoots back, amused. “You tell me.”

And then he suddenly wakes, startled, to the feel of a body falling on top of him.

It takes a moment for Zenyatta to recalibrate, his optics attempting to find somewhere to focus on in the dark, and the body on top of him is heavy and burning like a furnace, fingers gently running down his sides.

“You lie not,” the demon grunts against the side of his neck.

“I do not,” he replies, but his voice shakes at the smell that overcomes him, thick and heady and making him sway.

The demon’s lips are on the seam of his faceplate only a second later, stealing a kiss from him before moving down to bite down on his pistons, teasing, even as his hand moves between them, pressing against his modesty plate so urgently Zenyatta laughs, breathless without need to breathe.

He could joke, say the demon’s being quick, but they have been playing for over a month, and his own desire has grown enough that he feels no need to wait anymore.

His modesty panel slides open with a hiss, revealing to the demon’s fingers his valve, already plump and leaking, throbbing with need.

“You can feed on me, now,” Zenyatta murmurs.

“Now that you are awake, yes,” the oni murmurs, eyes glowing and a reverent smirk on his lips. “Finally mine.”

Zenyatta arches into him when his fingers spread the folds of his valve, caressing and rubbing it.

“Pleased with the… ah… challenge?”

“Never more than a week have my preys lasted, but you struggled with me for a month, and if I had not exposed myself, you would have fought me longer than that.”

“I had… time,” Zenyatta gasps, the finger pushing into him slowly, the easy drag making it obvious how long he’s wanted this. “Sometimes, the monastery can be… boring.”

He catches a glimpse of the oni’s grin before the fingers slide all the way inside him, spreading within his valve, and Zenyatta moans, unabashed and loud, at the wet sound the oni makes as he fingers him.

“It is… uncouth… not to give a name to the person you are feeding from,” Zenyatta murmurs.

He’s hungry for more than this, and he wants to take as much as the incubus is willing to give. His face, his smirk, his fingers –his name.

He wants to wrap his arms around the oni’s shoulders but before he can try, one of the oni’s hands moves to trap his wrists above his head. It sends a thrill down his back, yet his mind thinks back about the tendrils of darkness immobilizing him, and his preference is obvious. Above him, the oni reads his mind and cackles.

“Maybe next time, after I feed from you,” the oni promises, grinning wide and pleased. “But you had me starve an extra month, so I feel you can wait.” He pauses for a moment, both of them too lost in the moment as the oni’s fingers continue to fuck into him, slow and steady, building what Zenyatta feels is going to be the first of many, many orgasms. “Genji,” he finally answers.

Zenyatta tastes the name on his synth, and the oni… Genji’s grin above him is nothing short of feral.

“You can use it as many times as you want tonight, Zenyatta,” Genji tells him, thumb circling over Zenyatta’s nub with slow, meaningful touches. “You won’t wear it out, not even if you scream it.”

“We’ll see if you’re good enough for that,” Zenyatta hums, even as the warmth inside him grows, Genji’s pheromones spreading inside him like a drug, leaving him feeling heady and hot. “It might… ah… it might take a while.”

“I have nowhere else to be,” Genji mouths his way down Zenyatta’s neck, licking the pistons and the sensors on his chest. “And neither do you.”

Zenyatta’s answering laugh is lost in a sudden, loud moan when Genji’s fingers slip deeper inside him.

It takes him nothing –a slow drag, a second, a thumb pressing into his numb, a mouth on the sensor at the base of his neck… and Zenyatta crests over with a gasp, arching up beautifully against Genji’s body, a gush of slick and lubrication splashing over both of them as he twitches, Genji’s fingers still pressing inside him, demanding.

From there, the night is a blur of heat and pleasure.

Zenyatta loses himself in it, in the building pressure inside his valve that seems like it will never cease to grow, every release only making him more desperate for the next.

He comes, time after time, from Genji’s fingers inside him, then from Genji’s body pressing against his back, holding him steady as he shudders and spills all over his mattress, then comes once again from Genji’s tongue cleaning him up, and when Genji deepthroats him, Zenyatta’s screams echo in the room, protected by the oni’s magic so no one else will come and interrupt his feeding.

Zenyatta screams Genji’s name, just as the demon asked, when he’s fucked into the wall hard enough to splinter the stone, his fingers digging into Genji’s back to try and make him go even harder.

Next, Genji has Zenyatta on top of him, slowly fucking himself on his cock until Zenyatta can’t sit straight anymore, hunched over and desperate yet still so, so hard, and in a whirlwind of pleasure Zenyatta finds himself pressed into the mattress as Genji hops on his cock and rides him hard enough he overloads and resets, processes shutting off under the input and the pleasure.

When he comes to, minutes have passed and Genji’s languidly stroking his cock, coming all over Zenyatta’s body so he can lick him clean before pressing into him once more, angling his cock inside him so well it brings him to a shuddering orgasm again, clamping down so hard around Genji’s cock that he feels Genji curse and bite down on his pistons, releasing inside him in one long, heated rush.

After that, things slow down, but only for a while.

Lazy and purring from the energy he’s absorbed, they lay down side by side, with Genji guiding Zenyatta’s fingers inside him as he aligns their cocks together, sweat and lubrication making them slippery as they grind to completion together.

They’re not done yet –the thrum of pleasure inside Zenyatta keeps him from being satisfied, and the constant drain has Genji get even hungrier, harder to satisfy.

He loses count of how many times he loses consciousness, coming to Genji’s tongue inside him or wrapped around his cock, sucking him until he has depleted all his reserves, and loses count of how many times Genji has him come with barely a touch, merely with his illusions, keeping his promise and taking Zenyatta with a shadow tendril and watching him with lazy, satisfied eyes until Zenyatta begs to be touched, and they start again.

It is only with the first morning lights that Genji finally stops, panting hard, and stares at the mess he’s made of Zenyatta with a whistle of appreciation, even as Zenyatta still aches for him.

Bedsheets completely ruined, Zenyatta himself with his chassis scratched and dented, and Genji’s back full of scratches from where Zenyatta held on him, they make a rather striking sight.

It’s been a long time since Genji’s had this much fun, and the energy he’s drained from Zenyatta is enough to make him almost jittery –and even more so, with the fact that not once has Zenyatta looked away from him, or stared at him with anything but lust and desire.

“I don’t think,” Genji murmurs, thumb idly rubbing the underside of his own cock, “that I’ve had my fill, yet. You are but an addiction, and I’m the one unable to look away.”

Zenyatta moans and spreads himself for him, even as he can barely lift a finger.

“Perhaps,” Genji adds, mounting Zenyatta’s pliant body so they are connected, “I should return next month.”

It is as much of a promise as it is a challenge, and Zenyatta knows that, when he’s allowed to think again, he might find a way to make it fun for the both of them.

But not now.

He needs… just a little more time so he can focus on something else than the cock fucking into him, attempting to drag another climax out of him.

Next month, he knows, Genji won’t need to win him over again… but it might be fun to make him try.


End file.
